The Shaded Heart
by DarkusPhoenix
Summary: When one of the owners, and the son, of the Moonlight Shadow Opera House dies tragically in an invasion upon their home, the Opera House then becomes haunted. The remaining owner's daughter, Aya, begins to hear mysterious voices and feels a pull towards them. As the Opera House continues to be haunted, the developments between the mysterious man and Aya become greater.
1. The Birth of the Phantom

Alam took the hand of his newest business partner, Franklin, shaking in congratulations. Alam's mansion had become regrettably empty since his wife had passed. Alam now cared for his newborn son; the life born of his dying wife. With her passing came a new life. Alam's despise for his son's accidental demise of his eternal companion left a sour taste in his mouth and a heart stained with hate. Alam once thought of abandoning him, only seeing his son as the innocent symbol of his mourning. Alam then heard his wife in his dreams, asking him to raise the life she left behind as best he could. Ridding the mansion of the emptiness and finding a way to turn a profit somehow for his son became the most important thing in his life. Thus, Alam hired his friend as a business partner. Together, they decided to chase after the duo's childhood dream; a performing arts center. They renovated the mansion into a theater. This theater offered everything from high-end plays to stunning operas. Soon after opening, operas became the favorite, to Alam's and Franklin's surprise. Soon enough, the place became known as The Moonlight Shadow Opera House, due to its picturesque placement atop a seaside cliff. When sitting in the tavern at night, the opera house was silhouetted against the moon. It was a landmark location that symbolized the small town that surrounded it.

Alam's son, Abilsin, was raised at the Opera House, taking fascination in singing, acting and even the aesthetics of the performance. He began taking lessons from the professionals that Alam and Franklin hired. Franklin had a child as well, before his wife left him and their daughter, Aya, without so much as an explanation. Both single fathers, chasing a dream that fascinated their children. No two fathers could be happier. The children grew, and both became headlines in the feature performances held at the Opera House. The fathers became rather well known and popular for their direction and leadership at the establishment. Everyone in the community loved them, they had no enemies. No one hated them. So long as their performances continued to be run, the entire town remained upbeat; even the crime rate dropped. It was a small utopia of a town.

However, their fame became something many came to envy and desire. After a performance one day, Alam and Abilsin settled down in the living rooms they constructed beneath the Opera House. They were supposed to remain unknown except to Franklin, Alam, Abilsin and Aya. One night, Franklin and Aya went to town to get food for the four of them. Alam heard a knock on the reinforced wooden door and opened it, expecting it to be Franklin upon return. It wasn't. Upon opening the door, he met face to face with a masked figure, a silent stab in the stomach, and everything went hazy. The last sight he saw before his vision faded was Abilsin grabbing the invaders wrist in defense as he began to fight the invader. Alam watched helplessly as his son tussled with the masked figure, becoming beaten and bloody before falling to the ground, motionless, blood staining his face and hands. His vision blurred as his underground home was set ablaze and the man rushed out. Alam never woke. The room soon caved in, becoming a perfect burial site for the father and son. Neither of them was ever seen again.

Franklin and Aya mourned for a long time over the loss of their friends. Abilsin was 20, Aya 18. The reason and motive remained unknown. No other deaths appeared in connection. So much of the building caved in that it became structurally unsound to even attempt to recover them. If they attempted to retrieve their bodies, the Opera house above them would collapse in due time. They had no choice but to bid farewell to their friends. They kept the unfortunate events secret, maintaining the composure of the theater. Franklin continued to run the establishment on his own. No other incidents occurred… until 3 months later. Early morning rehearsals for a new production were delayed for several hours as a letter was found dangling from a rope in the rafters upon the main stage. The letter fastened to the rope by a black metal knife. The envelope was black with an old fashioned wax seal of blood red shaped like a skull, jutting out from the page. Inside, the letter read this, in white calligraphy.

_Franklin and all performers of the Moonlight Shadow Opera House,_

_The disappearance of one of your owners is a tragic loss, should any of you even realize the missing members of the staff. _

_Thus, I am making this decree. I am watching you. Your performances will be to my liking and direction. The Moonlight Shadow Opera House now belongs to me. _

Franklin read the letter with a plain face, then shook his head with a chuckle.

"This is probably so—" Franklin was in interrupted with the sounds of movement. In an instant, another rope fell, holding a jade tiger statue with another black letter pinned with a black knife. Franklin took the tiger in his hands and stared at it for a moment in disbelief before taking the letter and opening it too.

_…Some threat? I assume you recognize this object, Franklin. I ensure you, this is no mere threat. _

_Hamlet. I wish to see the play performed as opera._

Franklin's gaze rose slowly from the letter to before him before his face turned to commanding.

"He's here! Above! He dropped this! Everyone, to the rafters. DO NOT LET HIM ESCAPE!" Franklin shouted as the strongest of the actors flew behind stage to the ladders and stairs to reach the upper bounds of the theater. Many of the female performers huddled together and whispered to keep calm. Franklin pulled his daughter beside him, handing her the letters and jade tiger, whispering to her softly.

"That was in Alam's bedroom that day. Yet this man has it. We're dealing with the man who killed Alam and Abilsin. Take those and put them in the office. Then return here at once! Do you understand me?" Franklin spoke, scared and stern. Aya nodded and dashed off towards the office at the back of the theater while Franklin continued to try and calm his performers. The manager of the upcoming performance approached Franklin, looking slightly disturbed and jittery.

"Does this… change anything with the schedule?" After a long moment, Franklin replied.

"… No. Continue to rehearse as normal." Franklin turned to face a mid-twenties who looked regretful.

"We checked every route from the rafters. There's no one there. The doors to the rafters were locked still. It only locks from the outside. I'm the only person who has the keys to those doors, and I have them right here." He held up the keys, jingling them. "There was no one there, Franklin." He remained quiet while Franklin thought silently. "What are we going to do?"

"Just do your jobs and perform. This is a bluff and nothing more." Franklin spoke then stormed off towards where his daughter went, silently wondering where she was.

Aya approached the office, she saw a shadow flash against the back wall. Someone was behind her. She turned around to see a flash of black fabric. She chased after it, turning down a long empty hallway. No one was there. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and turned around to see her father.

"Did you see him?"

"I… I think so. He ran down here… but when I looked, there was no one here…"

"Okay… as long as you're safe. Come on, let's go home. We will return later tonight for the performance. Whoever he was… he's gone now."

Franklin and Aya returned to a small house they bought on the outskirts of town, down the road from the opera house. They both went inside and went back to bed As Aya tried to calm herself, she closed her eyes and began to hear singing. Mellow, deep humming… Aya opened her eyes to keep hearing it… It wasn't a dream. She sat up and listened, recognizing the tune as an old childhood favorite. The first opera her father and Alam performed, that Abilsin and her were allowed to watch. She began to hum along, her eyes wandering around the room, her heart beating madly. Was he here? Where was he?

"Aya…Where are you?"

Aya's eyes widened, but didn't reply.

"Aya…? Aya…?" The voice repeated with a small echo, slowly getting more distant.

"W…who are you?" Aya finally stammered in a whisper.

"…I'm your angel… Don't you remember?..."

"What…?"

"You were promised…"

"By who…?"

"Aya….Aya…." The beckoning voice began to fade fast and became nothing.

Aya sat on her bed in silence for a long while, in thought. She wasn't freaked out. The voice was calm and soothing. Calling her sweetly… as if lovingly. She felt enchanted and attracted. There was a small, strange feeling behind it that she couldn't describe. She decided not to tell her father, in fear of startling him. She laid back down and heard the voice in her dreams again. Getting no more information of who he was or why. Her father woke her from chasing the voice through a warm black abyss to begin to get ready for tonight's performance, in which she was a minor character. She did have a several minute long solo though. She now prayed that she performed to the man's liking, or feared something devastating to happen otherwise.


	2. A First Encounter

The performance came and went. Her minor character solo performance had resulted in a standing ovation that even delayed the continuance of the performance. The crowd refused to settle and allow the actors to continue performing for several minutes. Aya's heart thumped with excitement as the audience chanted her name, yet orderly. Her fellow friends in the cast motioned her to take the stage again for her ovation. She stepped back into the light and felt its warmth, as well as the sounds of the crowd's admiration. Aya looked up to the ceiling of the theater as if to give a silent prayer to God for the power to perform concerning recent events. Aya's eyes scanned across the ceiling, and saw the shape of a top left half of a face; white, staring down at her. Her eyes widened at the face; from the hairline to the cheekbone of the left eye, watching her from above the audience. When she made eye contact, she saw the lightly tanned skin behind the mask give a small, half-mouthed grin, almost one of approval. She blinked, and the face was gone. She didn't know what he was planning, or even thinking or even who the person was. All she knew, was that she is a pawn to him, in his chess game that he was setting into motion. She thought all this in an instant, as she was called offstage to continue the performance. She now became nervous.

Aya's hands were shaking. Did she imagine the face? Was she just letting her fears get the better of her? She decided to try and rationalize out her thoughts. She had a usual place in the theater in which she has gone to after each performance to unwind. She has gone under the stage, down the hall from the caved in section of their old home, to a small crevice between some rock slabs. There was a small room, where maybe two people could fit comfortably. There was a small window that looked over the town around the cliff-side that the opera house sat on. It was nighttime, and the lights were on in many houses, speckled across the town. It was so beautiful. Aya had gone here ever since she was a child. She used to sit here with Abilsin and count the lights as they came on, one by one, like little stars in the sky or like little fireflies. Franklin and Alam knew about the spot, since she'd be there many nights when she was younger, and they'd be searching for her late at night, to find her there. Even now, she uses the spot to think. No one ever went there anymore. She snuck away from the group as the play went on, and escaped to that space. Approaching the hole at the end of the hallway, she heard something whizz past her ear. Then a small clink as something fell to her feet. She saw the black envelope and immediately whipped around to see nothing. She was alone. Her heart began to race. He was here, so quietly, following her this whole time. He was watching her. She began to feel she was more than just a pawn, but a much bigger piece in his game. She calmed herself and picked up the envelope, crawled into her little hideaway and opened it, breaking the blood red wax skull from the back flap. Inside the note read as the others did, in white calligraphy.

_Fine performance, Aya. You're better than they give you credit for. Your elegance seems to know no bounds. Even as a minor role, you turn heads. I'll continue to watch as you grow and perform… I know you won't disappoint._

_Send my congratulations to your father on a performance well done. There shall be a gift waiting for him in his office with my best wishes._

_You shall not be alone in the darkness tonight…_

Aya was scared now. He was indeed watching her, and her father, and everyone. He was a ghost wandering the halls of this opera house. Aya soon felt the loneliness sink in. It was the first time she felt the sting from Alam and Abilsin's death. She was looked upon to be strong for the rest of the cast. If she publicly wept, as they tried to cover up what really happened, everyone would know the worst. She was forced to remain stoic, but inside it ate away at her. She curled up and wept for what felt like ages. Her knees bent up to her chin, tears streaming onto her knees and down her legs. She heard her father calling for her. She crawled out from her hideaway and held the note out to her father. He read it, then looked at Aya, confused.

"Seems he loved your performance… why are you crying?"

"I saw him…above the audience… during my ovation. He was watching me… with those cold eyes, that white face. He was here, when I was alone. I didn't see him but..—"

"HE WAS HERE?! HE MAY STILL BE AROUND. I'll call the police to search this whole place!"

"No, father! He knows the whole building He knew about my hideaway… Only you and I know that now. We're messing with someone far more dangerous than we are giving him credit for."

"But, Aya… This man needs to be stopped. He's taunted us enough…"

"He hasn't done anything yet... All he has said is words… Perhaps you should listen to them…"

"Fat chance! This is MY Opera house now, and no… ghost, is going to tell me how to run my Opera."

"Father! I beg of you, just indulge him in his requests… Perform what he wants… I fear this is only the beginning-"

"Which is why he needs to be stopped NOW!"

"What would you tell the police? We don't even have a face to go with the name… Only a mask description and these letters…"

Her father remained quiet as he began to pace, and his face slowly turned grim before speaking.

"I suppose you are right… We need to get a face to the name. You said he wears a mask…. Perhaps, if everyone is wearing masks, he'll appear in façade. We'll make all guests get a special mark upon their masks if they check in at the entrance. The ghost will have no mark, making him a walking target."

"That's brilliant father! It should be done."

"I'll make the preparations. For now, you should go and get some rest. Why don't you head home and I'll be there once the Opera is locked up." Her father kissed Aya's forehead and pushed Aya out of room, wishing her goodnight.

Franklin stopped and looked around the room, for the face that was haunting him and his daughter, along with his livelihood. Franklin then soon turned and headed out.

The post-performance clean-up and evacuating of all the various actors and actresses had been completed; the cleaning crew just had left. Franklin stepped onto the stage, in a sort of mental thought performance; pacing back and forth, turning on his heels with each dash walk across the stage. A light centered above where Franklin paced.

"I'm not afraid of him…A coward in not showing his face…" Franklin, then turned as a subtle click was heard. Franklin stopped in his tracks, as he was staring into a second spotlight, the light reflecting on a single object, a white mask, vague raised ridges to make a grotesque skull shape, focusing over one eye, the one Aya described. Franklin was spooked. He was here, glaring at him. He couldn't help as his breathing picked up and his nerves became jittery and he stepped backward in fear.

"Not afraid of me, hm…? Are you so sure you can run MY opera without me?"

"YOUR Opera? No… This Opera was made from the dreams of me and my friend, now deceased. I am not going to let some ghost, his killer or not, taunt me into losing the only thing Alam left behind. Do you hear me? I'll kill you myself if I must!"

The ghost chuckled, took a step closer, the spotlight moving forward in response, keeping only the piece of mask in clear light. Franklin took another step back.

"You're terrified of me. Even a blind man could see your….ill-fitting chest rising and falling beneath that flamboyant garb in panic. You are at my will, Franklin. Whether you know it or not, I'm everywhere…"

"You're a c-coward." Franklin just gave away any doubt of composure he may have facaded. A flash of white teeth appeared before the mask, as the head leaned back in laugh, revealing the lightly tanned skin of the mask wearer.

"Oh, that is rich… Franklin. Now, I have a few… requests… If you treasure your cast and….. dream," he spoke with a chuckle. " at all, you will listen to my commands. I'll require a payment, a salary, if you will." The mask turned to the side, walking towards Franklin's right right, the mask being followed by the spotlight. Franklin, turned to keep himself facing the ghost. "How is, $30,000 a month sound?"

"…WHAT?! That's preposterous! I'm not going to pay some black-wearing troll on how to run MY theater!" The mask stopped mid-step, and turned to face Franklin, its eye narrow and stern behind the mask.

"Franklin, I know how much this theater makes per performance. .. What I'm asking for… is pocket change. You WILL pay me. You WILL do as I say. This theater is mine… good sir. I hold the cards here. Also, I request that that box, behind me, up top, remains dark, at all times, for my personal use." Franklin merely grimaced at his request, seeing words had no effect anymore. "In addition, Aya, your daughter, is to play the lead in performances." Franklin didn't see a huge harm in this request, not from her recent performance. That was a choice he could go with. However, Franklin considered why the ghost focused on Aya. Was he after her?

"…Fine. I'll accept the – your – terms—"

"I'm not done…I also command you to tell your cast of the events that transpired below the theater, the murders… and notify them of my presence... in having to do with them. This is MY Theater, Franklin. It shall be run how I see fit. Whether you do so willingly… and safely, is your choice. My salary will be due in the morning as well as the news of my existence to your cast." Franklin knew panic was going to set in for the cast.

"You have my word… should you simply listen to my commands, your cast will not be harmed. Should you not… a tragedy shall await." Franklin only scowled, knowing he had no choice, but to go along with it and hope for the best and that his cast will stick with him. He still had the inkling that this man isn't dangerous in the slightest.

"I see you have decided. Goodnight, Franklin." The mask began to turn, before stopping. "Ah, I nearly forgot… Did you like my gift I left you?"

Franklin had not gone to his office yet, as Aya said he left something for him.

"I see… you haven't… Go, Franklin. Go see what gracious gift I offered you." The spotlight above him went out, leaving no noise, no image to follow. Franklin then darted from the stage to the office. He was a scared mouse, running from the cat he could not see. The cat whom was playing with him. He approached his office, the light was off. He flicked it on, scanned the room before seeing the signature black envelope on the center of his desk. He picked it up and broke the seal. Sliding the letter out, he read the letter. Speaking the similar comments as in Aya's letter and the same commands he asked for in person a moment ago. However, at the end was a P.S.

_P.S. If you still contain any doubts of what just transpired on stage, any doubts of what I could do; See Attached._

Franklin reluctantly slid the object behind the letter to the top. Franklin was met face to face with a picture of Alam, lying on the floor, blood pooling from his stomach and chest, fire erupting around him. On his neck, there was a brand of a skull, blood trailing from the eyes and streaming down the neck. Franklin stared at the picture for a moment, sick to his stomach, dropping the picture on his desk and swiftly exiting after grabbing an empty envelope and a stack of cash from the safe. He rushed back towards the stage, and into the seats, looking back onto stage, tossing the envelope onto the stage, to see the mask hovering there, only the white part glowing through the blackness.

"Thank you, good Franklin. Nice doing… business with you. Until -" Franklin barged through the door, exiting the room.

"…Next time… Until the… Masquerade Ball." The glow of teeth was seen again, reflecting subtle trails of light as a small laugh echoed.

The envelope was scraped from the stage floor by black hands as the light went out, leaving the opera dark, and silent; an all seeing eye watching it from the darkness.


	3. The Spirit of the Opera

Franklin hustled home, as fast as he could manage. The encounter with the ghost made him feel there truly was a being, living or not, controlling his Opera. Stepping through the front door, the lights were all off. Franklin didn't see a light against the upstairs hallway, so he left Aya alone to sleep and headed to his own bedroom. He'd tell of the ghost in the morning.

Aya heard her father enter downstairs, she was awake, sitting in bed, her eyes closed in thought. She whispered aloud "Ghosts aren't real…. Ghosts aren't real…Why are you haunting us… the Opera?" As if asking God to give an answer.

"Ghosts don't exist, you think? Dear child, they exist as much as me."

"W-who is that?" Aya chocked, eyes widened.

"I'm your angel..." she heard whisper as if by the wind.

"…W-what? Who.. Who's there?"

"It's me…Your angel…"

"I have no angel! Get away from me!" Aya shouted, yet quietly, taking her pillow and surrounding her head with it.

"Aya… fear not… I will not hurt you." Aya felt like this was a lie… he has sent subtle threats since he began.

"No… get away from me!" Aya spoke louder, clutching the pillow around her head.

"Aya… sweet darling… you need not fear a hair on head being harmed… I haven't hurt you yet, have I? Trust me…" Aya felt pressure atop the pillow around her head, she swatted the air, to feel nothing. She peeked out from behind the pillow to see the corner of her room, shrouded in the blackest darkness, with a mask floating about 6 feet above the ground. The mask was white, covering the top half of the face, ridges and crevices symbolic of a human skull, the eyes were black abysses under the brow. The raised ridges formed sharp shadows that left a jagged look to the face. She merely saw half of the mask before. He was now showing the whole thing.

"Get… get away from me!" Aya shouted.

"Why, my angel? Why deny what is to be done. You are going to receive the spotlight you deserve, my dear… Taking you under my wing, your voice will prosper, your character will inspire, your spirit will soar…Accept me, Aya… And we will do extraordinary things… Only if, you extend your hand to me…"

From the shadows, into the moonlight cascading through her window, came a black hand, not unlike a human's but still shady none-the-less. Aya, looked at the hand, with a small jump as it extended towards her and hovered there, waiting for her to take it. She looked back to the face, where she noticed the traces of a facial outline, or what she imagined. It made it easier to feel like the thing before her was not a ghost, but a man masked. Her mind was so dazed and confused as to what to do. She kept her hand back, but didn't move away.

"Aya… come to me…"

"I… I can't…"

"You can… All you need to do, is take my hand…"

Aya remained silent and still…

"… I see you need some time. Tomorrow, after the last gala performance, go to the memorial chamber beneath the stage. You will see a statue. I'll meet you there… Take my hand..."

The room seemed to darken as the spirit's mask turned from sight, and then she was alone again. Aya's heart began to pound. What were they dealing with now? This being's mask is more than just over one eye, and it has hands. Could it be human after all? Just haunting us? She debated on keeping this encounter a secret. Her father would only make them move again, and she was afraid of what this phantom was capable of. She only prayed her father would listen to him.

The next morning arrived. Aya stumbled downstairs and saw her father, looking pale, sitting at the table, staring into space.

"Hello, father. Everything went fine at the Opera after I left, I trust?"

He didn't reply, only stared the same. He didn't move a muscle. Aya walked into his line of sight to get his attention.

"Father? You're as white as a ghost. A—"

"GHOST?! Where… What ghost?!" Franklin twitched to life as if Aya said a code word.

"There's no ghost, father… What is wrong with you? You are horribly jittery this morning. Did you have too much coffee?" Franklin placed his head in his hands, passing his fingers through his hair.

"No… that's not it. I'm just getting nightmares… of this phantom stalking in my theater."

"HIS theater. Father, don't fight against his decisions… I beg of you if you care for the cast and your creation with Alam…" Franklin's eyes widened as he turned in disbelief toward Aya.

"What, father? What did I say?"

"He… He said something very similar last night…" Aya's eyes widened in shock.

"You… you met him last night? You saw him?"

"Yes… He demanded a bunch of things that I had no option but to accept." Aya walked to the table and sat across from Franklin, taking the hand of his father.

"What demands…?"

"He wants $30,000 a month in payment, as a start…"

"That's outrageous! We can't pay him that much! We'd lose money!"

"No, Aya….we make plenty. He knows our income and revenue. He has access to all our records in my office. He also asks that Box Five remain for his use only."

"Box Five… that is our one of our most popular boxes… but I guess that isn't too bad. It may come in handy if we want to catch him someday."

"He also demands… that you play the lead in all performances from now on…" Aya liked that idea. She always wanted the roll, but was pegged too young for it, and was always shadowed by Charlotte, the thirty year old lead actress and vocalist. She was a master in a wide range of tones and fit each roll that came to rise. Aya always filled the other largest role until she was older or more experienced with her voice, or if Charlotte left.

"Well… I can go with that." Aya gave a smile, not hiding the fact she liked the idea.

"And…. He commands I tell the cast about Alam and Abilsin… and about him being the cause of it all." Aya's smile dropped from her face, leaving a gravely face, holding back tears, standing up in uproar.

"HE killed them?! HE did this? HE wants US to tell them how a man we can't catch killed a co-owner and young cast member?! This guy is horrible!... Just… horrible…" Aya collapsed into her seat, beginning to shed tears, letting them hit the table with a patter. "How… how do you know he did…"

"That present he left on my desk was a picture of Alam dead on the floor before the room collapsed and buried them…It wasn't a fake. Alam was wearing the same outfit he had when we left that day... It's true. This guy killed them…"

"… But why… why would he kill them? What did we ever do to him?"

"I don't know… but we're dealing with a mad man…and we need to be careful."

"But we can't let him just walk all over us…"

"I don't want to test him, Aya… I can't be held responsible for someone's death in the cast. But, I need to tell them…"

"NO! Father we mustn't… They'll all be afraid for their lives and leave."

"He won't hurt them if we listen to him, and so far, his ideas haven't harmed us, nor have they seemed ill-minded. He is going to be helping your career, and if his opinion and input helps give the Opera a rise in traffic and keeps the audience filled, I have no complaints, and we must follow them. I need to tell them of the ghost."

That was the final word on the subject. Both Franklin and Aya were afraid of what was going to come of the news to the cast. They went to the theater and called the cast onto the stage. Franklin had brought all the letters that the ghost has sent so far. The object and picture too.

"My loyal and treasured cast… I am going to tell you about what has happened to Alam and Abilsin. Many of you have come to realize their disappearance. I am ready to tell you the truth behind that. Alam and Abilsin were murdered…Under this very theater. Buried as the carved out home we had inside the cliff burned. They are still there. Going to retrieve them is too dangerous to the structure of the Opera. They are now part of what is holding this Opera up. Now… a man entered the housing while Aya and I were in town getting food for the four of us. He killed Alam and Abilsin and set the house objects on fire, before caving the room in, making it their burial place. It's a sad event and a tragic loss to the Opera. But as you know, these letters have been appearing." Franklin held one of the letters up, showing a remorseful face. "These letters are written by the man who killed them. The ghost, phantom, shade, spectral being, whatever name you give him… he is the one responsible. I know, because he has provided me with a picture of Alam as he lay dying that night, before the room caved in. He has provided a statue that was Alam's from inside the home that would now be unreachable and was present right before Aya and I left that day. Upon this very stage, the ghost met face to face with me last night. He indeed exists." The cast looked ill, sad, crushed and scared. Franklin let everything he had said sink in. Looking up, as if to glimpse a look of approval from the phantom hiding in the shadows of the rafters.

"I indulge you to obey what he asks…He has assured me, that so long as we obey him, the cast will not be harmed. It is very important, and I stress you to listen to what I ask of you, no matter how unorthodox it may seem. His opinions have given some positive insight, despite the threats. He may be of use to us. If you want to leave, I cannot stop you, nor will I blame you of anything. You can leave with a positive view from me. Protect yourselves. Take your own life into your hands. If you enjoy performing, by all means, stay. If you want to be safe, it is probably not the best place for you here." Franklin turned to look at all the cast members, one by one. No one moved.

"If you wish to leave, now would be the time to do so." Franklin spoke, still no one moved. "No one wants to leave?"

A younger boy of 15, whom is an extra and practices after-school at the Opera, stood up. He was pegged as a mini-me Abilsin; Abilsin's shadow for a few years now. He always followed Abilsin around and was just as fascinated in everything he did, and he looked up to Abilsin. They were best friends.

"Abilsin was like a brother to me. I am not going to flee this place that Abilsin loved just because this ghost killed him. As the saying goes, the show must go on!"

This young boy restored the fire in the crowd in an instant. The cast all stood and slowly grew determined faces again. Franklin turned at the cast standing around him, beckoning the boy over to take his hand.

"This young boy has the spirit that this Opera needs to adjust to our new… management. If you all have the passion and dedication this young boy has, together, we will become the most renowned Opera in the land!"

A cheer erupted from the cast before they all settled down and looked to Franklin. The young boy turned to look at Franklin. "What is the next thing we shall perform, Frankie?" Franklin chuckled.

"Frankie?"

"Abilsin used to call you that behind your back." The boy dashed away and sat back down with the rest of the cast, turning to get an answer.

"We shall perform… Hamlet, as the ghost has previously requested."

"Sounds fun." The boy replied with a cheshire smile. Aya rose to her feet and walked to her father, whispering.

"What about the Masquerade Ball you mentioned? We may still be able to get a face from it." Franklin nodded and turned back to the cast.

"In honor of you commitment to this Opera, we are going to hold a ball, one in which you will all have a little fun with; a Masquerade Ball. Everyone needs to wear a mask. Dress as if you want to be unrecognizable, or as recognizable as you want. Have some fun with this okay? This is me thanking you for your dedication in the past, and what you have proven to me today. The ball will take place on the 13th, Friday evening."

The cast all rose to their feet and began the preparation and practice for tonight's last performance of the present work. The cast seemed happier than normal today, however. It was as if the ghost being present didn't frighten them. Was it Franklin's leadership that kept them brave; their trust in him? Or was it simply that the ghost did not frighten the cast; no real proof behind anything? Aya secretly prayed that nothing was going to happen tonight.


End file.
